Son. And be all traitors, that do so?

L. Macd. Every one that does so, is a traitor, and must be hanged.

Son. And must they all be hanged, that swear and lie?

L. Macd. Every one.

Son. Who must hang them?

L. Macd. Why, the honest men.

Son. Then the liars and swearers are fools: for there are liars and swearers enough to beat the honest men, and hang up them.

L. Macd. Now, God help thee, poor monkey! But how wilt thou do for a father?

Son. If he were dead, you'd weep for him: if you would not, it were a good sign that I should quickly have a new father.

L. Macd. Poor prattler! how thou talk'st.

Enter a Messenger.

Mess. Bless you, fair dame! I am not to

known,

you

Though in your state of honour I am perfect.4
I doubt, some danger does approach you nearly:
If you will take a homely man's advice,

Be not found here; hence, with your little ones.
To fright you thus, methinks, I am too savage;
To do worse to you, were fell cruelty,

Which is too nigh your person. Heaven preserve you!

I dare abide no longer.

L. Macd.

I have done no harm.

[Exit Messenger.

Whither should I fly?

But I remember now

I am in this earthly world; where, to do harm,
Is often laudable: to do good, sometime,
Accounted dangerous folly: Why then, alas!
Do I put up that womanly defence,

What are these

4 I am perfectly acquainted with your rank.

Enter Murderers.

Mur. Where is your husband?

L. Macd. I hope, in no place so unsanctified, Where such as thou may'st find him.

Mur.

He's a traitor.

Son. Thou ly'st, thou shag-ear'd villain.
Mur.

What, you egg ? [Stabbing him.

Young fry of treachery?

Son.

He has killed me, mother;

Run away, I pray you.

[Dies.

[Exit Lady MACDUFF, crying Murder, and pursued by the Murderers.

SCENE III.

England. A Room in the King's Palace.

Enter MALCOLM and MACDuff.

Mal. Let us seek out some desolate shade, and there

Weep our sad bosoms empty.

Let us rather

Macd. Hold fast the mortal sword; and like good men, Bestride our downfall'n birthdom: Each new morn, New widows howl; new orphans cry; new sorrows Strike heaven on the face, that it resounds As if it felt with Scotland, and yell'd out Like syllable of dolour.

Mal. What I believe, I'll wail; What know, believe; and, what I can redress, As I shall find the time to friend", I will. What you have spoke, it may be so, perchance. This tyrant, whose sole name blisters our tongues,

> Befriend.

Was once thought honest: you have lov'd him well: He hath not touched you yet. I am young; but something

You may deserve of him through me; and wisdom
To offer up a weak, poor, innocent lamb,
To appease an angry god.

Macd. I am not treacherous.

Mal.

But Macbeth is.

A good and virtuous nature may recoil,

In an imperial charge. But 'crave your pardon; That which you are, my thoughts cannot transpose: Angels are bright still, though the brightest fell: Though all things foul would bear the brows of

grace,

Yet grace must still look so.

Macd.

I have lost my hopes. Mal. Perchance, even there, where I did find my

doubts.

Why in that rawness left you wife and child, (Those precious motives, those strong notes of love,) Without leave-taking? I pray you,

Let not my jealousies be your dishonours,

But mine own safeties: You may be rightly just, Whatever I shall think.

Macd.

Bleed, bleed, poor country!

Great tyranny, lay thou thy basis sure,

For goodness dares not check thee! wear thou thy

wrongs,

Thy title is affeer'd ! 7

Fare thee well, lord:

I would not be the villain that thou think'st

For the whole space that's in the tyrant's grasp,
And the rich East to boot.

Mal.
Be not offended:
I speak not as in an absolute fear of you.
I think our country sinks beneath the yoke;
It weeps, it bleeds; and each new day a gash

6. e. A good mind may recede from goodness in the execution of a royal commission.

7 Legally settled by those who had the final adjudication.

Is added to her wounds: I think, withal,
There would be hands uplifted in my right;
And here from gracious England, have I offer
Of goodly thousands: But, for all this,
When I shall tread upon the tyrant's head,
Or wear it on my sword, yet my poor country
Shall have more vices than it had before;
More suffer, and more sundry ways than ever,
By him that shall succeed.

Macd.

What should he be?

Mal. It is myself I mean: in whom I know All the particulars of vice so grafted,

That, when they shall be open'd, black Macbeth
Will seem as pure as snow; and the poor state
Esteem him as a lamb, being compar'd

With my confineless harms. I grant him bloody,
Luxurious, avaricious, false, deceitful,
Sudden, malicious, smacking of every sin
That has a name: But there's no bottom, none,
In my voluptuousness; and my desire
All continent impediments would o'er-bear,
That did oppose my will: Better Macbeth
Than such a one to reign.

Macd.

Boundless intemperance

In nature is a tyranny; it hath been

The untimely emptying of the happy throne,
And fall of many kings. But fear not yet
To take upon you what is yours: you may
Convey your pleasures in a spacious plenty,
And yet seem cold, the time you may so hood-wink
Mal.
With this, there grows,
In my most ill-compos'd affection, such
A stanchless avarice, that, were I king,
I should cut off the nobles for their lands;
Desire his jewels, and this other's house:
And my more-having would be as a sauce
To make me hunger more; that I should forge

S Passionate.

Quarrels unjust against the good, and loyal,
Destroying them for wealth.

Macd.

This avarice

Grows with pernicious root; and it hath been
The sword of our slain kings: Yet do not fear;
Scotland hath foysons to fill up your will,
Of your mere own: All these are portable',
With other graces weigh'd.

Mal. But I have none: The king-becoming graces,
As justice, verity, temperance, stableness,
Bounty, perséverance, mercy, lowliness,
Devotion, patience, courage, fortitude,
I have no relish of them; but abound
In the division of each several crime,
Acting it many ways. Nay, had I power, I should
Uproar the universal peace, confound

All unity on earth.

Macd.

O Scotland! Scotland! Mal. If such a one be fit to govern, speak.

I am as I have spoken.

Macd.

Fit to govern!

No, not to live.- O nation miserable,

With an untitled tyrant bloody-scepter'd,

When shalt thou see thy wholesome days again! Since that the truest issue of thy throne

By his own interdiction stands accurs'd,

And does blaspheme his breed? — Thy royal father
Was a most sainted king; the queen, that bore thee,
Oftner upon her knees than on her feet,

Died every day she liv'd. Fare thee well!
These evils, thou repeat'st upon thyself,

Have banish'd me from Scotland. — O, my breast,
Thy hope ends here!

Mal.

Macduff, this noble passion, Child of integrity, hath from my soul

Wip'd the black scruples, reconcil'd my thoughts To thy good truth and honour. Devilish Macbeth

9 Plenty.

May be endured.